


Plus Some Little Extras On the Side

by starlightwalking



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Multi, Originally Posted on Tumblr, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-07 18:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6818428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlightwalking/pseuds/starlightwalking
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of various short drabbles/prompts with no correlation to each other. Originally posted on tumblr. (url: tommorrowcomes)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt:  
> ExR, "Amuse Me"

Enjolras scowled as his friends descended upon his bedside, Combeferre fluffing up his pillows and Courfeyrac straightening his sheets, Feuilly giving him a strict lecture on being safer next time he got the idea to climb to the top of a house.

“Really, what possessed you to climb that roof in the first place?” Combeferre demanded.

Enjolras blushed. “Well, I wanted to—stargaze.” He didn’t want to tell them the truth, that he had been sneaking out to meet his boyfriend in the house behind him and that going over the roof was the fastest and safest way to make sure his parents didn’t find out. He’d done it countless times before, but it had rained that day and the roof was slippery. He and Grantaire hadn’t told the rest of their friends they were dating yet—they wanted to find out how long it took them to realize.

“Stargazing. On a cloudy night.” Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow. “And you fell off the roof and broke your leg in the process?”

“I’ll be fine!” Enjolras shouted, waving his arms. “Give me some space, for Christ’s sake!”

They all backed away, though they clearly weren’t happy.

“There are more people outside,” Feuilly said. “The hospital only lets three visitors in at a time.”

“All right, better get it over with,” Enjolras grumbled. The three of them turned to leave, and he called out, “Thanks for coming.” He truly had missed them, even if he didn’t need their scolding.

He endured the swarm of visitors: Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta brought him flowers and chocolate; Marius, Cosette, and Cosette’s father stayed and chatted for far too long; Bahorel, Jehan, and Éponine brought news. That left Grantaire for last, all by himself.

Grantaire waited until everyone was gone before giving him a quick kiss. Enjolras scowled at him after he broke away.

“Are you going to tell me I should have been safer or more careful or something?” he demanded. “That’s all I’ve gotten from the others. It’s not like I’m going to die or something, all I have is a broken leg!”

“Well, I’m the only one who knows why you were on the roof, so probably not,” Grantaire said. “Though I think your days of sneaking out to see me at night are over, at least for a while.”

“Yeah.” Enjolras sulked.

“I brought you a card,” Grantaire said. He blushed as he handed it to him. “Don’t open it until I’ve gone.”

“It’s that cheesy?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

Grantaire shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”

He left not long after that, giving him one last goodbye kiss. Enjolras opened the card as soon as he was gone.

“Oh my God,” he said as he opened it.

On the card was a beautifully drawn backdrop with a crude crayon-made ambulance in the foreground. Grantaire must have enlisted Éponine’s little brothers to help him make it.

“Be the E to my R?” the card said. Enjolras squinted, and saw the the ambulance was driving toward the Emergency Room, whose sign was a simple “ER” surrounded by a heart.

Enjolras laughed. Of course Grantaire would take this opportunity to make puns. And, ironically, the day he had fallen off the roof had been Valentine’s Day.

He grinned, shaking his head as he closed the card. He dug into the chocolate Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta had given him. It was terrible that his leg was broken, and annoying his friends felt the need to fuss, but at least his boyfriend could always deliver a good pun. Or, in this case, a terrible one.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> "e and r and don't just break me, destroy all my hopes and dreams to the point where i need therapy"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't know if I succeeded, but here's some canon-era angst!

There’s nothing you can do to avoid the inevitable. Death comes to everyone in time. All you can do is delay it for a little while.

Sometimes Grantaire doesn’t see the point in delaying it. He’ll lie in bed and wish it was all over. Other days are better. He’ll spend time with friends and feel for a moment, this isn’t too bad. This isn’t so bad after all.

Enjolras is full of fire and passion and drives himself to the edge of insanity. The others are always there to help him out. Grantaire gives silent encouragements, slipping him some food or passing along word that he’s near a breakdown to one of the other Amis, but he never directly confronts him. No, there is too much pain for that. Enjolras continual disregard for him only brings him even further down.

There is only one time where Grantaire believes that a personal intervention is necessary. This is the time he finally realizes why sometimes, delaying death is better than embracing it.

The National Guard aims his gun at Enjolras and he just stands there. Grantaire doesn’t know if he doesn’t realize the danger he is in or if he doesn’t care. But he must survive. Enjolras is vital to the revolution, and even though Grantaire doesn’t believe they can ever succeed, he believes in Enjolras. And Enjolras deserves to live, at least for a little while longer.

Grantaire pushes him down, flinging himself in front of the approaching bullet. He doesn’t think of himself; he never does.

He feels the bullet enter into his chest, and though it hurts, all he can do is smile. In that moment, he knows it’s over. It’s only a matter of time. And his hourglass is fast running out of sand.

There is chaos and confusion around him, and he is being dragged away. There are shouts and he is smiling, still smiling, feeling someone’s arms around him and hoarse sobs and shouts from his friends.

He can’t tell if it’s Joly or Bossuet who prop him up and tell him how brave he was but that they have to keep fighting. Someone else stands guard over him, and his vision is going blurry.

The fighting stops. Grantaire doesn’t know if they’ve won or if they’re just at a temporary standstill, but the noise dies down and suddenly everyone is crouching at his side.

Someone kneels down beside him and embraces him. Grantaire can barely see now, but lifts his arm, an effort comparable to Atlas’s struggle to lift the sky. He slings it around the person’s shoulder, glad not to be alone.

“Grantaire,” the person chokes out in a voice full of tears.

Grantaire’s smile freezes as he recognizes the voice. It is Enjolras.

“You died for me,” Enjolras says, and all Grantaire can do is nod.

“Are you crying?” he rasps, his brain foggy and uncomprehending. His shirt is soaked with blood, and he can slowly feel his arms numbing. He is dying.

Enjolras is nodding—at least, Grantaire thinks he is nodding. He whispers something Grantaire cannot catch. He responds, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Don’t cry for me,” he croaks out. “It’s not…” He trails off. He can’t manage to say any more.

“We will remember you,” Enjolras vows.

“Don’t cry for me,” Grantaire whispers again. His eyes stay open, staring at the blurry, incomprehensible vision of the man before him.

He is vaguely aware of the pain, the darkening corners of his vision, of Enjolras stubbornly continuing to cry. He cracks a smile, trying to show his teeth.

_Don’t cry,_ he tries to say again, but he doesn’t think he manages to get it out.

Death comes to everyone eventually, for some sooner than others. And if Grantaire can delay Enjolras’s death, he is sure his own fall is worth it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> "Love Me", Courferre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring some aro!jolras because why not.

Combeferre generally didn’t put much stock into fortune cookies, but he guessed it was fun to laugh at them. This time around, though, he was surprised by the contents of his fortune.

“What’d you get, Enjolras?” Courfeyrac asked.

“‘Plan your work and work your plan’,” Enjolras said. “Huh. Well, I don’t think I’ll have much trouble following that.”

“True,” Combeferre agreed. “You’re very methodical when it comes to plans.”

“I got ‘A friend asks only for your time not your money’,” Courfeyrac said. He smirked at Combeferre, whose insides flip-flopped a little bit. He’d had a ridiculous crush on Courfeyrac for the longest time now, and little things like that drove him crazy. “I guess that means I’m not paying this time around, huh?”

Enjolras snorted. “There’s no getting out of it, Courf, it’s your turn.”

Courfeyrac sighed, placing a hand to his chest dramatically. “What a tragedy. My wallet is doomed to suffer!”

Combeferre laughed, grinning at his friend. What an adorable nerd. Hopefully Courfeyrac didn’t realize he was thinking that, but his grin was probably incredibly sappy. He quickly assumed a more neutral expression.

“What does yours say, Combeferre?” Courfeyrac asked, leaning over to see the slip of paper.

Combeferre hadn’t looked at it yet, just eaten the cookie and tossed it aside. He thought these things were a bit silly and hadn’t bothered to find his so-called “fortune”. “These are dumb,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Come on, Ferre!” Courfeyrac insisted.

“Alright, alright.” He picked it up and unfolded it. “‘One of your closest friends is in love with you’,” he read, blushing deeply as he did so. Well, _that_ was obviously untrue—Enjolras was aromantic, and Courfeyrac had showed no interest in pursuing anything romantic with him.

Enjolras laughed loudly. Combeferre glared at him.

“Well, it’s not me, I’m aro,” he said, grinning. He flashed a glance to Courfeyrac, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“It’s just a fortune cookie,” Combeferre mumbled, crumpling up the piece of paper and tossing at Enjolras.

“Cut him some slack,” Courfeyrac added. Combeferre glanced over to him, surprised to find him blushing just as much as he himself was.

Enjolras just laughed again. “Come on, Courf, we both know it’s true.”

“What are you talking about?” Combeferre asked in a strangled voice. He looked away from Enjolras and toward Courfeyrac.

“God, you’re so oblivious.” Enjolras laughed.

“Shut up, Enj,” Courfeyrac muttered.

“ _Do_ you like me?” Combeferre asked hesitantly, trying not to sound as if he really cared and, he was sure, failing spectacularly.

Courfeyrac glanced down at the table, then back up to him. “Well, maybe, but—”

“Wait, _seriously_?” Combeferre said incredulously. He could barely believe it!

“Yes, alright?” Courfeyrac said testily. “I know you don’t like me like that, I’m sorry, but since the subject came up—”

“God, you’re so _dumb_ ,” Combeferre interrupted. “Of _course_ I like you like that, I mean—”

“Wait, what?” Courfeyrac said. They stared at each other across the table, eyes wide.

“Damn, I’m going to lose my bet with Grantaire,” Enjolras said, breaking the tension.

“What?” Combeferre said, still staring at Courfeyrac.

“I didn’t think you’d tell each other for at least another month,” Enjolras explained. “He disagreed. Anyway, I don’t know _who_ won the bet I had with Feuilly—he bet Ferre would say it first, but I guess I kind of instigated all this.”

“You really like me?” Courfeyrac said.

“Of course,” Combeferre said quickly. “I’ve always liked you, really.” He paused. “And you like me too?”

“Yeah!” Courfeyrac said, his eyes lighting up. “You’re so smart, and funny, and—” He blushed again. “You…wanna kiss about or something?”

“I’d love to,” Combeferre said quietly.

“And you said fortune cookies were dumb,” Enjolras said ironically.

“Oh, shut up,” Combeferre said absently.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:  
> J/B/M, "Heal Me"

Bossuet tried not to get into fights these days, but he had bad luck and didn’t like to back down from a challenge, so it didn’t always work.

“What did you do this time?” Joly demanded when he stumbled back to their house that night.

Bossuet, sporting several bruises and a bleeding scalp, only winced apologetically.

Hearing Joly’s frantic shout, Musichetta came running. When she saw Bossuet’s battered state, she gasped and immediately rushed to the freezer, pulling out a bag of ice.

Joly pulled out his first aid kit and ushered Bossuet into a reclining chair. He quickly produced some salve and bandages and began to treat him.

“—and honestly you make me so worried sometimes, Bossuet, I know you can take care of yourself but then you come back home all beat up like this and I’m scared and—”

“Joly, I’m fine,” Bossuet interrupted, patting him gently on the arm. “I’m not hurt too bad.” _I’ve had worse,_ he doesn’t say. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

“And so will I!” Musichetta added, coming over and pressing a bag of ice onto Bossuet’s now-bandaged head.

Bossuet took it from her and pressed it to his head with a grateful sigh. “Thanks, Chetta.”

She leaned down to give him a kiss. “What happened?” she asked after they broke apart.

Bossuet grimaced. “I’ve been trying not to get into fights, you know, but these guys were being so transphobic, and I couldn’t just sit there and let them get away with it!”

Joly sighed. “Well, thank you for sticking up for people like Chetta and I, but…” He trailed off.

“How many of them?” Musichetta asked, voicing the unspoken question.

“Just two, though they were both bigger than me.” Bossuet smiled half-heartedly. “It was worth it.”

Joly kissed him, then sat up and sighed. “Well, this is all I can do for now,” he said, “but from now on, no more fighting, not even gross transphobes, okay? Call them out, but don’t get physical. Please. Don’t make Chetta and I have to be your chaperones.”

“Joly—” Bossuet protested. “They learned a lesson, I know they did—”

“We want you to be safe, too,” Musichetta said. “Now, you get some rest.” She laid a blanket over him.

“We love you,” Joly said, squeezing his hand.

“I love you, too,” Bossuet said, sighing.


End file.
